#bruce at the end!! lmao!!

[dontworrybabymp3]

whatever this was from The Beach Boys’ 1969 Paris concert

[batfamhastwitter]

Part 12 and the second and final part of the Bats&Birds Q&A! Thank you again to everyone who submitted questions, I really had a blast with this!

Prev ~ Beginning ~ Next

[hey-hey-j]

posting some of my unfinished comics just to get them out of my mind and because I still think the ideas have merit. Picked at this one for a while before deciding I just wasn't vibing with the compositions even though I really liked the emotional pacing, lol

I imagined this scenario taking place a good while after Band Together, when JD has mostly smoothed things over with the bros but has yet to actually say the words "I'm sorry" because dealing with guilt is hard and he hates the thought that those feelings will never really go away no matter how much he apologizes or how hard he tries to fix things and yadda yadda that's a rant for another post

anyway here's the script I was working off of because I still feel bad I didn't make it to that last bit of dialogue

[reineydraws]

based on that one bert and ernie behind the scenes photo of jim henson & co. :')

i drew this for fun and then i started thinking about how robin could be a two-person puppet dick's parents created and puppeteered together and dick inherits it when they die and he ends up passing it along to subsequent siblings to use together when he creates his own nightwing one and then i got emotional about it + the inherent quality of family-as-legacy that the robin puppet represents 🥺🥺 they have to share the role. robin means not being alone!!

bonus lol:

[prlssprfctn]

I've been brewing this post for far too long in my drafts, but I need more doomed!Bruce and Jason throughout universes. And it is not even always about the same Jaybin, dying in the warehouse scenarios!

Sometimes Jason is just a kid, who died in front of Batman, who maybe jumped in between Batman and the villain recklessly, to keep him safe, and whose blood stuck under Bruce's nails. His face haunts him in nightmares, still.

In other realities, Bruce meets Jason as a teen, and they never even get to become father and son officially - but they slowly get into each other's lives, until something awful happens, leaving a ghost of a smirking kid stroll behind Bruce's hunched figure for the rest of his life.

Or maybe it is one of these realities, where Jason crawls out of the Alley Crime himself, and manages to become famous in Gotham; the one, where he opens a charity fond, dedicated to people, who fight with the drug addiction. Bruce Wayne is sympathetic of a kid he meets during some of the events, and as they slowly start contacting each other more often, getting closer, he promises himself to protect him. Expect, Batman is late to save Jason Todd from the hands of yet another villain.

It could be the priest Jason Todd that meets bleeding out Batman on the stairs of the church, and who helps him out, for what he later pays with his life. Or they are not really vigilantes in any of these universes - just father and son.

And in some of these universes, they reconcile. In one of them, some of the medics connect the dots that a catatonic boy, who is covered in dirt, calling for his dad, for Bruce is Bruce's Wayne dead son, and try calling him. In another, LoA!Jason with his memory still being in a haze, crosses his path with Batman, before getting dipped in the Lazarus Pit.

But the point stands.

In all of them, Bruce Wayne is too late. In all of them, Bruce Wayne fails to save Jason Todd.

[violent138]

Thinking of Bruce, who spent his youth playing guitar loudly, super excited to share that with his super cool crime fighting tragic backstory included child.

Only for Dick to say, "Yeah guitar's cool, you know what's even better?" *pulls out an accordion*

Bruce, over the accordion: "Alfred you still have the receipt for this one right?"

[breadandblankets]

Duke is a man of science and a man of questions. This leads him down many rabbit holes but most specifically printing out dozens upon dozens of business cards.

Gothamites are by and large, smart people, so not many people scan the little code even if it was put in their hands by Gotham's very own daytime hero. But it only takes a couple to get #SignalSurvey trending.

Duke doesn't find out (even though he has been trawling social media for days) until Babs shoots him a text in his Econ class (which is honestly a snoozefest anyway).

Sauron: I'll keep your secret.

Galadriel: dont u dare skew my data

Sauron: I would Never

Galadriel: yes u would

Sauron: little birdy has been a good boy so he may live.

-

Young people, who were reckless enough with their online safety (and knowledgeable enough to actually Use the thing) are the first to complete Duke's little experiment.

The answers start pouring in, with Red Hood well in the lead. The comments include things like "wet blanket" and "lame" which makes Duke laugh his whole ass off.

It's not until older internet savvy people get a hold of the link that the results become Fascinating. Nightwing begins to pull ahead, the comments are filled with: "please please less puns they're terrible" and "can't stand him but he's adorable so I forgive him".

Memorably: "Nightwing rescued me from a hostage situation one time. He talked the whole time and at the end I wanted to go back to my kidnappers. You're my hero Mr. Nightwing but Please."

Duke does actually get some votes for himself (included for sake of completeness) and he's not going to lie, shit hurts. Although some of the comments are just to the effect of "Bright :(", which does make him laugh.

There are plenty of votes for Batman (expected), Spoiler/Batgirl (expected but he's mad about it), the Robins (Fair), and a handful for Batgirl/Batgirl.

(Those seem to mostly be from goons complaining about her efficiency and how scary she is, Duke thinks they may have missed the point of the survey.)

-

At the end he compiles it all, gleefully makes a powerpoint, and bounds into Family Saturday Dinner™ with a ultra short throw projector and a dream.

The noise of the dining room doesn't dim even as Duke clears his throat, typical. It's when he starts speaking, clear and even, that people stop waging their personal wars.

"Most Annoying Bat, as voted by the people of Gotham," Duke anounces.

"A vote? By the people of Gotham?" Jason says, his voice strangled. "You mean the thing that killed me?"

"Number three: Batman."

It's here that all hell finally breaks loose.

[ghost-bxrd]

What would the canon batfam (or your version of the batfam, since the canon version is… questionable, at times) would think of Fae Dick?

Just imagine someone from the fae world, probably Tim, ends up in a world where Dick is human, and either 1) does not immediately realize that this Dick is human bc every version of Dick Grayson is at least a little unhinged, or 2) takes one long look at him and is like ‘wait you’re HUMAN?’

(Also, Jason learning that Fae Dick killed the Joker/or Fae Dick murdering the joker of the other world bc if other him wouldn’t do it, he sure as hell will)

Honestly if it’s Tim I’d give him exactly one convo to clock canon!Dick as human. There’s just this distinct lack of—- something, about this version of him. Yeah, he’s still his exuberant and uplifting self but??? Where are all the teeth??? (“Excuse me, what?”) And what happened to your feathers?????? (“My what now??”) And why are your eyes so weird?????? (“Excuse you, my eyes are perfectly alright!”)

And of course, there’s the distinct lack of plant- and wildlife in the manor. The doors don’t open and close on their own to let the family members pass, the deer Tim sees on the outskirts of the manor grounds all look depressingly normal and shy away from them, and the trees don’t try to trip him up in a bout of mischief. And, worst of all? Tim now can’t just go through any door in the manor and have it bring him directly to his intended destination. He accidentally walks into a closet many times and just— stands there, in the dark, for several minutes before he realizes that, nope, this really is just a closet and will not magically open up into the kitchens. Damn it.

The canon batfamily all think that Tim is a tragically deranged alternate universe version of their Tim and all discreetly try to “play along” with his delusions (even though canon!dick is totally weirded out about the random tidbits of information Tim drops on them). Not to mention that they’re all very concerned about the mentions of Dick having people eaten by deer and stuff. Or collecting teeth.

All that gets resolved rather quickly tho when Fae!Dick barges into this universe to retrieve his Tim and pops by with his usual many-toothed smile and the Joker’s severed head hanging from one hand, chirping a happy little “you’re welcome!” At Jason, and then promptly hugging the living daylights out of his Tim.

Tim just grins happily and says “teeth!” Very emphatically.

(Jason totally doesn’t cry that another version of his big bro just showed up and killed the Joker for him, nope, not at all.)

(“Timmy, can we-“

“Absolutely not!”

“But he’s sad” :((

“He’s HAPPY, dumbass. You killed the joker for him.”

“Exactly! Other Dick didn’t do it, I did! That means he’s mine now!”

“Dick- NO-“

“Dick, yes!” :)))) )

[jasontoddsgaythoughts]

If DC wants to keep pushing out different types of Gotham War comics for every year, they may as well make a Gotham Batman Ships war next year. They get to make light fun of their fans. Batman is spread all over somewhat romantically like hummus. They get to bring in different heroes and Gotham villains to fight reluctantly (they don’t want the Batman they just want the honor). The batkids get to sit cute on the sidelines and laugh at their dad’s misery. It’s fun

[1-8oo-wtfbro]

The Batfam after having to lie to their loved ones (AGAIN) and ruin entire relationships just to protect their secret identities:

-

Bruce, calling Alfred after adopting yet another orphan:

-

-

Bruce when any of his children tried to call him out for his shit:

-

What the fam sees when they look at Dick’s Dicowing Era:

-

All the sidekicks banding together like:

-

Cop Dick be like:

-

(Jason Todd priest era) Pov you go to mass in gotham and this guy is staring you down from the altar:

-

Bruce trying to show his kids he’s cool like:

-

Jason trying out for his school play in 6th grade like:

[bepoucorp]

Hi! In your headcannons how did Joker and Bats get together? Did Bats Confess or the other way? I'm Sorry if you already andswered this question. I love your by the way.

THANK YOU! and no one has asked this so hehe; I like the idea that they're never officially together. More like occasional lovers than anything serious. Joker does imply he's in love but Batman is definitely the one to be straightforward and confess!

Joker never actually takes Batman's confession seriously until Batman shakes him around like, "YOU FUCKING IDIOT." But yeah! TYSM FOR ASKIN!

edit: THIS IS SO OUTDATED FOR MY AU PLEASE 😭😭😭

[cleromancy]

i think its so funny when ppl ship jason/black mask bc like. they're clearly going for like a fucky toxic badtimes yaoi for jay a la dickslade or rastim and you know what i respect that i do but jason does not lend himself to that at all man. jason was running circles around black mask all through utrh he was walking that man like a dog from the beginning and it wasnt even hard. you need to understand that the thing youre shipping here is bugs bunny/elmer fudd

[cheriekos]

“my self-sufficiency will be the death of me” [timkon ficlet]

goooooood afternoon timkonners. Really wanted to get into the habit of writing a little bit everyday again, so I’m filling out some whumptober-adjacent prompts (courtesy of scealaiscoite). This may be eventually cross-posted to my ao3, who knows, this is mostly just to keep my writing skills in check after a really rough few months of work + to get me out of my writing slump on my larger fic projects. This has been very lightly edited, and is extremely unbeta’d. Anyways, enjoy! Prompt: blood swirling down a shower drain. Content warnings for light descriptions of a knife injury & medical treatment related to that.

The ceiling is that awful popcorn texture. It's yellowed over time. There's a spreading stain over corner, likely some water damage from the unit above. There's some rust at the corner of the shower curtain rod and some odd looking spots at the bottom of the flimsy plastic curtain that has him groaning because he's going to have to look into this, he lives here, other people live here, and clearly the landlord spruced up his apartment but not the others and this needs to be taken care of but it's another thing to take care of -

His breath catches in his throat, a barely held gasp just eeking out past his lips. Every time he tries to breathe low into his belly, his chest spasms. Bruised ribs, he catalogues. Another thing to take care of.

Tim's fingers shake over the left side of his chest, right above the torn parts of his uniform, right where his emergency beacon was slashed through. He lost the one on his wrist sometime between Falcone's latest hidden warehouse and the apartment building. If he reaches down to his boot, he can press the one still intact. He can press it, and someone will come and get him.

He can't move his hand.

Well - It's not that he can't. He's still got some feeling left, which is good. But he can't stop staring at the ceiling. The thought of even moving his head makes him feel so - so tired. It feels as if someone has scooped out his bones and filled him with dense liquid. He tries to will himself to move, to slam down on the emergency beacon and suffer through the indignity of having to be saved by Robin and sit through a thorough dissection of everything he did wrong tonight. He doesn't mind it so much anymore, really - but he's just - he's too tired. He's too tired.

When he closes his eyes, it feels good - the rest that calls to him feels like the kind after a particularly long day of running around as a kid. When you've probably spent too much time in the sun and your chest hurts, the phantom pain of deep laughter following you to your bed. He believes it, for a moment. That he's really just closing his eyes after playing too much and too long and his mom will be there in just a moment to brush his hair out of his eyes and tell him don't let the bed bugs -

He presses down on the knife wound along his abdomen to keep himself awake.

Only an inch deep, but three inches long - they got messy trying to pull it out, he thinks. Another wound. Another thing to take care of. Which he won't be able to take care of if he passes out in this dingy bathroom that's probably going to give him an infection.

His fingers feel cold. He can't tell if he's going into shock or if he's been sitting under the spray of the shower so long that the hot waters run out.

He can't die like this. Not like this. Lying in a mold covered bathroom, shredded to pieces. Not like this.

It's painful, it makes him flush with a deeply buried shame that he tried hard not to face - but he chokes out his name anyway.

"Superboy," he says. "Kon."

There's a moment - one painful, awful moment - where there is nothing but the sound of the shower and his own, ragged breathing. Then, somewhere further inside there's the sound of a window opening, the stumbling of leather boots against hardwood floor - and then Kon's there, right there next to him, and Tim has never felt so relieved and so ashamed at the same time.

"Shit," Kon says, holding Tim's face. He looks down at Tim's hands, shaking against the wound in his side, and follows the blood going down the shower drain. "Shit."

"Good t'see y'too." Tim mumbles.

Kon's staring - or at least, Tim thinks he is. He thinks time is slowing down, maybe. Between one blink and the next, Kon's face morphs from wide-eyed worry to a grim sort of determination. The grip on Tim's face tightens - not unkindly.

"Not funny, Tim," Kon says, lowly.

Tim just swallows, barely wincing at the acrid taste of copper on his tongue. He tilts his chin with what little energy he has, indicating his stomach.

"Knife wound," he says. "Bruised ribs. Gotta check for - for concussion -"

"Stop talking -"

"Need - stitches -"

"Stop talking."

Tim's mouth clicks shut. He feels something burn at his chest - not pain, but something more akin to anger flaring beneath his skin. The urge to crawl out of the tub, to rip away from Kon and get his own goddamn medical kit was making his stomach roll. But God, his bones were like lead and his head was so heavy - the overwhelming relief of being gathered up into Kon's arms was almost enough to distract him. Almost.

"I'm taking you back to your house -"

"Can't."

"Why?"

"Got - my own - my own place -"

Kon freezes as he leaves the old bathroom, pausing briefly to scrunch his eyes tight and mutter a small Jesus Christ before readjusting Tim in his hold, gently.

"You need help, Tim, and you've lost a lot of blood -"

"Not too much -"

"Tim -"

"Kon," Tim says, strained. "The longer we stand here arguing, the more blood I lose. Take me - take me back to my apartment."

Time really slows down then. Kon's bright, bright eyes bore into his, a completely open book. Tim can see the way he swallows down his words, the way his jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth - the way his eyes shine with worry. Tim holds his gaze, focusing on the pain blooming across his ribs in order to avoid thinking about just how much Kin's gaze unsettled something within him.

"You're gonna be the death of me," Kon mutters.

"Not if I die first," Tim says, softly. Kon doesn't laugh - doesn't so much as smirk. Then, he's bounding out the door faster than Tim could blink.

Tim feels a wave of vertigo and he does everything he can to stop the bile rising in his throat. He digs his nails into the worn leather of Kon's sleeve, groaning with his lips shut tight. Kon's thumb rubs a soft circle where he holds him - a gesture so gentle that it takes Tim by surprise. He doesn't get to relish in it for long before Kon's laying him against his new dining table; Tim mourns the clean wood. He'll be scraping out blood from the grooves for the next few months.

"My medkit -" Tim's hand reaches out, weakly. "Get me - needle -"

"Are you out of your mind?" Kon damn near shouts. "You're not sewing yourself up."

"I can and - I will -"

"No," Kon says firmly, hand wrapped around Tim's wrist. "Can you - can you just let someone help you for once?"

No - it's the reply right on the tip of his tongue. Help. There was a time when people surrounded Tim, when he could reach out a hand and find another reaching out to him. But the longer he does this, the more he loses, the more people start to disappear - the more that he finds that the only hands he has are his own. The hands that will stitch him up and prop him up straight, the ones that get things done.

But another, tiny part of him sighs. A little part of him sags with relief, maybe with exhaustion- because yes, he would like some help. His fingers are cold and cannot stop shaking and Kon is steady.

"Fine," Tim finally says. "Help me."

Kon smiles. That irritating, crooked grin lights up his face and Tim chest constricts at the familiarity of it.

“Was that so hard?” Kon says, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Yes,” Tim groans.

Kon moves swiftly - more assured, more practiced than he had been months ago when he first had to deal with some bad scrapes while out on a mission with the team. His hands don’t flit about wildly, searching for something to make it better. He takes off his own gloves and washes his hands before cutting through the tightly woven Kevlar of Tim’s suit, gently washing the cut, and letting Tim dig crescent shaped divets into his bicep while he threaded Tim’s skin back together.

“You’ve gotta breathe, Tim - “

“I’m trying, asshole - “

“Don’t call the guy with the needle and thread an asshole, asshole - “

Tim barely notices that Kon has already snipped the medical thread and has started placing bandages across his side. Tim watches as he moves, quick, tearing medical tape and snipping bandages with determination, and then carefully placing them where Tim still bleeds. Tim’s mouth goes dry - he looks up at the ceiling instead.

“How’s your hearing? Seeing double?” Kon asks, flashing the little emergency flashlight in Tim’s eyes. Tim resists the urge to bat him away.

“Just fine,” Tim blinks. “God help me if I - if I ever have to deal with - two of you.”

“Twice the fun,” Kon remarks.

“Twice the headache,” Tim says, with little heat. “Kon - painkillers - “

Kon rattles a small bottle, labeled meticulously in Alfred’s familiar handwriting. “These ones?”

“Yes,” Tim says, breathlessly. He tries to put one hand under him, arm shaking with the effort to try and pull his own body weight up.

“Hold on - “

“I can - get up by myself - “

“Tim,” Kon says, warm hands curling around Tim’s arm. “Let me help you. Please.”

There’s an earnestness to Kon that is so disarming that it peels away the remaining resistance in Tim. He uses his last bits of energy to wrap an arm around Kon’s neck, a flush traveling across his cheeks as he mutters okay and lets himself be held again. This time, he lets himself melt a little further into Kon, pointedly ignoring the unfurling, winding feelings in his gut - he neatly packs that feeling away for later in the corner of his brain. He focuses on breathing, on the steady rhythm of Kon’s heartbeat, and the soothing hands that hold him.

He blinks rapidly, realizing that he’s been placed on his couch and that Kon has managed to rummage up the eye-sore of a blanket that Dick had given him as house-warming gift a while back. Kon’s in the kitchen, then suddenly by his side, waving a small glass of water and the painkillers in front of Tim.

“Drink up, Timmy,”

“Don’t call me Timmy,” Tim grumbles, and downs the pills and water in one swift movement.

When he sits back, it’s like every bit of adrenaline keeping him awake has left him. The last dredges of it disappear and all he can do is curl against the headrest, the scratchy, awful blanket giving him an odd sense of comfort. He blinks, slow, trying to get a good word out before sleep could take him. To tell Kon he’s got it handled, that he needs to report back to Dick about the stake-out going wrong - but he can’t. He just looks up at Kon, illuminated by the bright lights of Gotham from the window behind, and he feels a deep, deep ache in his sternum. A sudden urgency fills him - a worry. That when he wakes up, Kon will be gone and something about that makes Tim feel sick.

He moves his fingers slightly, flushing with embarrassment as he croaks out “Stay?”

Kon doesn’t hesitate. There’s barely enough time for a thought before Kon’s hand tangles with Tim’s, the rough pads of his thumbs, slowly becoming calloused from farm work, begins to rub against Tim’s knuckles. Tim’s breath catches in his throat.

“Of course,” Kon whispers. “You don’t even have to ask.”

Tim breathes out. “Oh.”

There’s a smile on Kon’s face - a little knowing, a little sad. Something childish blooms in Tim; he wants to reach out and hold his face, wants to pull at the edges of his cheeks until the sadness went away. But rest tugs at him, the exhaustion in his bones pulling him down, down, down until the feeling of Kon’s hand in his was a distant sensation, his last words something like out of a dream.

“I’ve got you, Tim. I’ve got you.”

[who-always-pays-their-taxes]

i have sooo many opinions on the rebirthing allegory between talia al ghul and jason todd but nah y’all don’t wanna hear that

[bah-art]

My hand slipped

Thought sins of an old man. He deserves some action

[lazaruspiss]

characters that make sense to be living in wayne manor without much if any explanation: bruce, alfred, damian, tim, cass