#don't tell the universe

[eddiestightywhities]

CRACK (TO THE HEAD) WITH A CAPITAL 'C'

(AKA The Written at 4am Buddie Crack-ish Fic Starring: Thirsty Song Lyrics, National Treasure Christopher Diaz, and Way Too Many Feels For Its Own Damn Good)

.

It's Friday morning, two minutes to zero-ten hundred-hours, according to Eddie's Timex Indiglo watch which is never even a half-second out, when he unlocks the door to Buck's place to drop Christopher off for his overnight stay—Chris refuses to call them sleepovers anymore because age thirteen is apparently The Number of The Beast—before Eddie will have to bail pretty sharpish to kick-off his twenty-four shift that begins at eleven.

On entering the apartment, they're met by the sound of raucous, upbeat music.

Eddie scans the loft for his friend and has to do a seriously comical double take when he catches sight of Buck, who has one hand spread palm-down on his the couch cushions, and the other behind his back as he performs shirtless one-armed wonder press-ups (with perfect fucking form, as always) to the punky beat of The Offspring's Pretty Fly For A White Guy that's currently blasting from Buck's bluetooth speaker—riiiiiight as the Give it to me baby! A-ha! A-ha! part of the song hits and the whole scene has Eddie's brain record-scratching and stopping him dead in his army issue steelies.

Dead, fucking dead, ¡Santa María, salva mi alma!

His jaw instantly drops through the floor and into the apartment below without his permission as if there are lead weights attached to his teeth, his mouth now fully hanging open and catching all the damn flies in a completely horrifying display of blatant, lust-filled shock.

Buck is breathtaking at the best of times, but right here, right now, he is heart-stoppingly unfuckingreal.

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Eddie's bestie (best friend-shaped, Eddie! Eddie thinks, Buck is best friend-shaped!) is carelessly grunting like some sort of sex-machine that's been built to Eddie's exact specifications, and each grunt is louder than the last with each new, hard push upwards of Buck's swollen-thick torso, glistening sweat beading on his—well, on his absolutely fucking everything, Jesus fucking Christ on a bike, and Eddie's washing machine brain is at once stuck on an eternal spin-cycle and may well break down any second now and have him collapsing like a shabby old rag doll dressed in Eddie's Henley and Eddie's ripped jeans and falling to his now-violently shaking knees if he doesn't grab the fuck onto something, STAT.

He's about to shamefully steady himself with a hand to his son's shoulder when Christopher starts yipping like a madman then joining in with the song lyrics by positively shouting out the chorus.

“Give it to me baby! A-ha! A-ha!” he screams in a deliberate and absurd soprano, and Eddie's mind is screaming in Shut-Down, having first upgraded to an aneurysm, or at least a stroke, and he has to slap a hand over his kid's mouth, pronto, because he doesn't know what the fuck else he possibly could do at this point in the fantasy-laiden world that is currently unfolding before his probably now bloodshot eyes; nothing else he can think of to stop himself from ending up in a drooling heap that will become known as The Reduction Formally Known As Eddie Diaz's Gay Panic when he melts onto Evan Buckley's kitchen linoleum at possibly one minute to ten on a Friday afternoon in June in the year of our Lord 2024.

Eddie just barely manages to squeak out a truly pathetic, “Nope! Nuh-huh! No!” before that particular Cartoon Network-esque slapstick disaster becomes an unfathomable and inescapable reality.

Christopher obviously protests his outrage with a muffled but still impressively indignant, “Daaaad! I'm thirteen YEARS old, not thirteen MONTHS old!” just as Buck spots them both and smiles his big, adorable smile, immediately abandoning his exercises to turn the music off (oh, thank the Heavens!) and jumping up to stride over towards Christopher and Eddie to meet them where they're standing around like kitchen gremlins by the central island in Buck's kitchenette.

Sopping wet, wide-spread sweat patches are darkening the majority of Buck's once-light grey jersey short-shorts (holy crap, they are short and are leaving nothing to the imagination), those unfairly long legs of his slick and shimmering with dewy-fresh perspiration, just like the rest of his devastatingly gorgeous half-naked body, and Eddie wouldn't be joking if he regaled this moment to somebody at a later date (as if he ever would) by telling them that his entire life flashed before his eyes—because it absolutely balls to the wall no fucking shit just did.

He blinks approximately seven-hundred and thirty-three times in the less-than-four seconds it takes for Buck to reach them.

Christopher is flailing under Eddie's death-grip like a traumatised kidnap victim, while Eddie is continuing to freak the fuck out in Narnia like the crazed Closet Case that he is.

Edmundo Diaz—First Responder; Lapsed Roman Catholic—finds himself praying for a natural disaster, or an act of God, or, or, or, just... Something! Anything!

¡Por favor, Dios, por favor!

Resolute to the fact he has absolutely one-hundred percent secured his place in the very lowest circle of Hell, Eddie plasters a surely maniacal pearly-white grin onto his stupid and definitely reddening face, and says, “Howdy!” far too loudly in his thickest Texan accent for some unknown fucking reason—which is far, far louder and far, far thicker than any he ever sported while actually growing up in Texas—because he's clearly gone bat-shit fucking insane. Then he's breaking out into even more of a full-body sweat than Buck who has been working out for what is probably around the half-hour mark or more, by this point, because Sweaty Adonis Buckaroo is now right fucking there right in fucking front of Eddie so fucking close almost close enough to reach out and touch—

Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit!

And isn't this just aces?

Eddie thinks, Fuck fucking push-ups, fuck The Fucking Offspring, and fuck fucking Eddie's fucking life so fucking hard, godfuckingdammit.

Eddie is so Bucked.

Buck's smile is turning inquisitive (and somehow even more adorable) at Eddie's clear display of Buck-induced brain damage, before his baby-blues are twinkling with something... Mischievous? Cunning?

And then he's answering Eddie's dumb as shit greeting with, “Aloha, cowboy,” his brows snaking up his forehead, tongue lolling out of his mouth to rest on that sinfully pouty-pink bottom lip in a way that is the complete fucking opposite of innocent, leaving Eddie wondering if it's possible to die twice in the space of—well, ever.

(He knows all too well that it is, but he's been Bucked, remember, so how about giving his brain a break, hmm? THANK YOU SO MUCH).

Then Eddie wonders: Is this the ghost of Buck 1.0 that's come to say:

Hi, babygirl, I'm here to Buck you up good, real good, so you better hold on real tight because you're goin' downtown faster than a whore's panties, you slutty little—*GUNSHOTS*

About to possibly kick the bucket for the third time in as many minutes, Eddie realises he doesn't really know what Hawaii could possibly have to do with the Wild West (Aloha Cowboy?) but that he honestly couldn't give any amount of fucks, flying or otherwise, because unless his head has been cruelly hoodwinked with a massive serving of Wishful Thinking, he is also realising that...

That...

Buck is seriously flirting with him right now?!

He ponders briefly over how hard he actually hit his head when he'd banged it into the doorframe of his truck, maybe five minutes earlier when grabbing Christopher's crutches from the backseat just after they'd arrived.

Eddie then notices Christopher's teenage Smirky McSmirkerson features in his periphery (Chris had managed to prize Eddie's numb hand from his face a moment ago) and also the way his son's own head is snapping between his now fully-loco father and his Buck, and Eddie thinks of tennis matches, and flying pigs, and how stiflingly hot it seems to have become in the loft in the last thirty or so seconds.

Then Buck is licking at those lovely lips of his, turning to Christopher and saying, “What do you say we go out on a breakfast date on Sunday morning, after your Dad has slept a bunch, huh Christopher?”

Only, when he says the word 'date', Eddie doesn't think he's imagining the way Buck's eyes flicker pointedly in Eddie's exact direction.

“Because I'm off the whole weekend,” he continues, “so the three of us could drive the jeep out of town and I could buy you both giant syrupy waffles with maple bacon and Horchata milkshakes from Fosselman's and then... And then we can go visit the the Greek Theatre, and then maybe Griffith Observatory later on in the evening, when the stars come out, and we'll hold hands,”—again, his eyes bore longingly into Eddie's for a split-second that feels like a lived lifetime—“all three of us, like we used to when you were tiny, Chris, you remember that? And it'll be the best day that we've ever, ever had together, I absolutely know it.”

Buck is looking at Eddie again, only Buck isn't looking away this time and Eddie is almost positive that his eyes are screaming: Yes, Eds! Yes, I want you, too, man! So let's do this!

“Ew, no way,” Christopher instantaneously complains—before he's quickly backtracking and amending his statement with, “To the hand-holding, I mean. The rest sounds pretty good, though, Buck. What do you think, Dad?” and he even manages to sound marginally appreciative at the tail end—appreciative for a sharp, snarky teenager, that is.

Christopher then fully turns to Eddie (Eddie who's body is now sans soul) and says, “Can we really have waffles and milkshakes for breakfast Dad? Can we? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease don't be a major Joy Assassin and say 'It's not a proper meal if there's no vitamins involved, Mijo', because it'll be a Sunday, and it sounds so awesome, like the rest of the day does, too, actually. And you love Buck, Dad, so maybe just you and him can be sappy Sallys and hold hands and be all gross together, and I'll secretly snap your picture when you're mooning at Buck with heart-eyes, like you always do, and Buck will give you heart-eyes back, like he always does, too, except this time you can both do it while you're actually looking at each other, and then I'll send the photo to Aunt Maddie and Uncle Chim who can maybe finally convince you two to move in together and get married like I've been trying to get them to for years, now!”

Eddie doesn't know where the hell the kid got the breath from for all those truths.

Because that's what that was; Eddie's truth, all of it.

But was it really Buck's truth, too?

Like they're rehearsing in a play based on their lives, Buck, on cue, lets out a really happy-sounding gasp that quickly morphs into a happy-sounding laugh, and Eddie bottle-rockets right out of the fucking apartment and off into the fucking stratosphere.

He is very much back in the room, though, when Christopher takes his hand to gracelessly slam-join it with Buck's, which is calloused like his own due to the life-saving work they proudly tackle together day-to-day—always together, every day they can be, always, partners in everything they do—and Buck's hand is big, and warm, too, and all kinds of wonderful, and then Eddie is not only thinking about all the skin and the hot and the sweaty and the gorgeous, but also about how Buck has saved Eddie's life, so many times, now, and saved him in so many different ways from practically the first week he and Chris spent in LA after leaving El Paso, has saved him in every way possible, actually, every which way under the sun and the moon and the stars, even the ones they can't see from Griffith Observatory. And even though Buck has just murdered Eddie twice already this morning in the silly-short space of time he and Christopher have been here, with his push-up grunts and sexy-swagger and his 'Aloha, Cowboy' (whatever the fuck that even means) and, most of all, above everything else, Buck's Over Nine-Thousand level of Adorability, Buck's boundless generosity and kindness, Buck's inherently thoughtful nature, and Buck's twelve-sizes-too-big heart, he is saving Eddie again with the way he's letting Eddie Eddie love, love, love him.

And the fact that he is taking care of Eddie's son today, tonight, is absolutely everything to Eddie. Buck is Christopher's Buck, Christopher's hero, and he's Eddie's hero, as well, and Eddie wants to claim him as Eddie's Buck, too, because Buck thinks Christopher is awesome and always genuinely looks forward to looking after him, to loving him all of the time, just like Eddie loves Chris, and like Eddie loves Buck because Buck cares about Christopher just as much as Eddie does, and Eddie knows—he knows without a shadow of a doubt—that Buck's love for the boy they're raising together is a type of love that no other person, bar Shannon, has had for him, for them, before or ever will again.

There is nobody else like Buck in the universe.

Nobody cares or loves like Evan Buckley, or more than Evan Buckley, and being on the receiving end of that love is worth more than solid gold, or oxygen, or even spicy pepperoni pizza and a cold one after pulling a gruelling shift as a Firefighter on the never-sleeping streets of Los Angeles, CA.

And then just like that, Eddie is able to put a timely yet abrupt stop to any and all of his panic (gay or otherwise) because there isn't a shred of anxiety left inside of him, now, not about this, at least, because he knows he's got nothing whatsoever to be scared of with Buck.

So addressing his son (their son, really) Eddie nods his head emphatically and tells his boy, “Yeah, Chris, that does sound awesome; Waffles and milkshakes and all of it,” and then squeezes the hand in his, Buck's hand, and leans over Buck's kitchen counter and says easily, “I love you, Buck—I mean, I'd love to, Buck! Shit—”

“Swearbox!” Christopher chides smugly.

Eddie pulls a face at his slip-up and at his son, then clears his throat and continues a little sheepishly with, “But, um,” before looking up to remind himself of that adoring that look Buck is giving him, and then saying more decisively,“ But yeah, that other thing, too, actually, because yeah, yes, you know I love you, Buck... At least, I hope you know it,” and then he huffs a little laugh as he adamantly says, “I love you, Evan Buckley,” and thinks 'In for a penny' and strains his neck to reach across and kiss Buck shyly on the cheek.

Only his aim is a little off and he ends up planting a kinda sloppy one right on the corner of Buck's slightly parted lips, but it turns out he's glad about it and is even sort of proud that he misjudged the angle and got to feel Buck's unabashed smile against his own upturned lips, because he's wanted to do that ever since he first laid eyes on the man standing in front of him who is radiating the sun's rays out of his very core, as if he actually owns them and the sun only has them on a loner for sunny days.

Buck is smiling like he's just won the World Series—which is funny because Eddie has just won the Being Gay With a Capital 'G' award, and that means they are both Imaginary Winning Title holders, now.

Except no, fuck that, because Eddie's win isn't imaginary at all, it is very much a beautiful and viscerally Real win, actually.

Real with a capital R, muchas gracias.

Apparently, all Buck has to say about all of this right now is, “Okay, alright, you get your fine ass to work now, Eddie Spaghetti, and Christopher and I will see you on the flipside for sleep and cuddles and, and, and a Real with a capital R adventure on Sunday,” and Eddie is looking at the universe sideways for the first time in the entirety of his non-believing life. “Oh and by the way, honey—and I am so calling you honey from now on, also by the way, just so you know—I absolutely one-hundred percent, honey,” he pauses for second and and winces a bit, “Christopher I will also be adding to the Swearbox for this one... Love the shit outta you too, Edmundo Diaz.”

Christopher just claps and laughs and laughs and claps and then shouts, “My two Dads love each other, universe, did you hear that?!”

Somehow managing to smile even bigger than he was a moment ago, Buck then lightly grabs the now half wolf-whistling, half dry-retching thirteen-year-old matchmaking genius who goes by Christopher Diaz, in a loose headlock and starts scrubbing gentle knuckles through his curls, before literally kicking the happiest man on the whole damn planet out of his apartment with a ridiculously big and adorably bare foot.

“Go! You'll be late! We'll see you tomorrow, honey.”

Eddie (said happiest man on the whole damn planet) waits until Buck's door has closed behind him and then till the elevator door has slid open and shut again before fist-pumping the air like the dorky First Place In The Game of Life winner that he is, smiling what is likely his biggest smile since his darling Christopher came into this world.

Then he pulls out his tongue at nobody at all and thinks, Fuck you, first place is first place; dork or not.

As he leaves Buck's building, he also thinks, I'll have to crack my head on random shit more often, joking with himself and chuckling like a prize idiot as he crosses the side road towards his truck.

Then he's immediately cursing himself out with every swear words he knows, in both English and Spanish, for somehow allowing himself to be pulled into Buck's nonsensical woo-woo Cosmic Universe bullshit.

Vida, vida, vida.

Although...

Maybe—just maybe—he could forgive the slip, just this one time, just this once, when he recognises his chuckle as the being the very same, gloriously happy-sounding laughter that Eddie had unbelievably managed to pull from the chest of the best man he's ever known (who also happens to be the hottest man in the whole frickin universe; cosmic or otherwise).

It's the man Eddie has loved for years who—apparently, amazingly—loves Eddie right back.

Evan 'Buck' Buckley.

Christopher's Buck. Eddie's Buck.

And when he's climbing into his truck and inexplicably clocks his head on the doorframe again, for the second time today (seriously, what the actual fuck is going on here?), Eddie looks around suspiciously and surreptitiously before taking a minute to peer hesitantly up at the sky-blue sky and its cotton-candy clouds and the hot, hot sun with its borrowed rays, out into the universe, or to God, or who—or what—ever is or isn't out there, before finding himself about to mutter a few choice incredulous words from under his breath.

He takes a gulp of air, and says, “Yeah, okay, muchas gracias, oh cosmic powers that be, yada yada et cetera et cetera, if you do in fact exist, not that I really think you do,” whispering the statement and feeling like a first class clown, “But, just in case?” Eddie swallows the lump in his throat and soldiers on. “Just in case, here it is: Yes, I obviously wholeheartedly appreciate whatever it was you might or might not have done for me back there, like, I really, honestly, seriously, do, but just—will you just please do me a solid and...” Eddie can't believe he's thinking this, let alone saying (albeit whispering) it for realsies, “...don't let Buck or Christopher or Hen or Karen or Chim or Maddie or Bobby or Athena or Ravi or, hell, any other fucker on the planet know that I actually said any of this phooey out loud, alright? Not ever. Or Santa Mierda, I will seriously come for you like a rabid Nordic Goat Herder on a mixture of bath salts and crack cocaine and crazy because I would never, ever be able to live this shit down if it got out. ¿Entiendes?”

Completely fucking done with that, Eddie starts up the engine and pulls out of his parking space outside of Buck's building, while annoyingly hoping that the universe understands at least a smidgen of Spanish, and begins the first day of the rest of his life, mumble-humming a not entirely unenthusiastic tune...

“Give it to me baby! A-ha! A-ha!”

.

(this had barely one skim-over edit so please be kind!)

[deep-space-netwerk]

So Venus is my favorite planet in the solar system - everything about it is just so weird.

It has this extraordinarily dense atmosphere that by all accounts shouldn't exist - Venus is close enough to the sun (and therefore hot enough) that the atmosphere should have literally evaporated away, just like Mercury's. We think Earth manages to keep its atmosphere by virtue of our magnetic field, but Venus doesn't even have that going for it. While Venus is probably volcanically active, it definitely doesn't have an internal magnetic dynamo, so whatever form of volcanism it has going on is very different from ours. And, it spins backwards! For some reason!!

But, for as many mysteries as Venus has, the United States really hasn't spent much time investigating it. The Soviet Union, on the other hand, sent no less than 16 probes to Venus between 1961 and 1984 as part of the Venera program - most of them looked like this!

The Soviet Union had a very different approach to space than the United States. NASA missions are typically extremely risk averse, and the spacecraft we launch are generally very expensive one-offs that have only one chance to succeed or fail.

It's lead to some really amazing science, but to put it into perspective, the Mars Opportunity rover only had to survive on Mars for 90 days for the mission to be declared a complete success. That thing lasted 15 years. I love the Opportunity rover as much as any self-respecting NASA engineer, but how much extra time and money did we spend that we didn't technically "need" to for it to last 60x longer than required?

Anyway, all to say, the Soviet Union took a more incremental approach, where failures were far less devastating. The Venera 9 through 14 probes were designed to land on the surface of Venus, and survive long enough to take a picture with two cameras - not an easy task, but a fairly straightforward goal compared to NASA standards. They had…mixed results.

Venera 9 managed to take a picture with one camera, but the other one's lens cap didn't deploy.

Venera 10 also managed to take a picture with one camera, but again the other lens cap didn't deploy.

Venera 11 took no pictures - neither lens cap deployed this time.

Venera 12 also took no pictures - because again, neither lens cap deployed.

Lotta problems with lens caps.

For Venera 13 and 14, in addition to the cameras they sent a device to sample the Venusian "soil". Upon landing, the arm was supposed to swing down and analyze the surface it touched - it was a simple mechanism that couldn't be re-deployed or adjusted after the first go.

This time, both lens caps FINALLY ejected perfectly, and we were treated to these marvelous, eerie pictures of the Venus landscape:

However, when the Venera 14 soil sampler arm deployed, instead of sampling the Venus surface, it managed to swing down and land perfectly on….an ejected lens cap.

[prlssprfctn]

In his new room - in his new house - Jason searches up for a circus performances and stares at them for hours. First, he watches at them mindlessly, unconsciously curious, and then, he starts to take notes.

He is a street kid, and everything about him screams of that. So, he is nowhere near the grace of these performers on the screen. His arms are not that strong, too, but he is agile, and his legs are much stronger - he can think of something.

He can be just as good as the boy he is replacing.

It is not like someone tells him to match Richard Grayson, and it is not like someone admits that Jason is here to replace the first Wonder Boy, but Jason heard Bruce's conversation with Dick earlier. It was meant not for his ears, but it doesn't matter now.

"So, now what, you exile me, and bring a boy to replace me?!"

Jason is not mad. All of it ‐ adoption papers, the manor, the school - is much more than he ever thought he would get in his life. Being replacement doesn't sound as bad anyway; especially, if his brother is so cool.

So, he makes notes on circus performances and slightly chopes his hair. They are much curlier than Dick's - he has more of a wavy ones, and the only ever look that way, when they get long; his childhood photos with short hair looks too straight - but the cut does its magic.

The next day, Bruce compliments his hair absentmindedly and is positively surprised by his new moves on the patrol, asking where he learnt it from. Jason lies about not remembering, but his cheeks are flashed, and his smile is all about teeth. He can't wait to show it to Dick once they finally get on a mission together.

Expect, when they do, Dick just nods and mutters a light-hearted "good job" before leaving to talk with his team. And Jason knows Dick doesn't want to be mean - he gets it; no one feels good about having a replacement, especially the one that seems so cheap in comparison - but he still cries that night in his pillow, feeling himself a little kid, even if he isn't one. Even if he never was.

Jason wonders if his own replacement would make him understand Dick.

But Jason never gets replaced.

No matter the taunting voice of the Lazarus Pit in the back of his head - that sometimes sounds suspiciously like Talia's; you remain unavenged and replaced - and his own intrusive thoughts that spiral in uneven lines, Jason doesn't think Tim was ever meant to be his replacement. Being replaced means to match the person that was meant to be left behind. And no one asked Tim to be like Jason.

If anything, memory of Jason was thrown under the rag, hidden and locked securely in heads of those who survived. And if they brought Jason up, then it was always an example of what Robin shouldn't do: run away, disobey, and allow emotions to consume you. So, not much of an exemplary original. More like an opposite.

Jason feels an urge to explain that to Tim once; when they sit together on the rooftop, almost like a proper family, instead of broken pieces of someone's idea of a one.

'You could never replace me,' he says, and the instant it leaves his mouth, he knows it came out wrong.

Tim rolls his eyes.

'Yeah, dude. Whatever.'

'No, I mean—' He grits his teeth, scrapping slightly the back of his hand. 'I mean... You could never replace me, because... Because you were always better.'

Tim freezes. His big blue eyes shift in something more confused, and it is almost as if he is not sure how he needs to react — to protest? To agree? To thank him?

Jason doesn't know what to do, too.

He wants to say: it is easy as that, babybird. They wanted to have someone who would have nothing in common with me — someone who could help them to forget about my existence, about the existence of the failed Robin.

But he can't make himself speak again. And he is not sure he wants to stay any longer to hear Tin manging to put his thoughts in the words; he is better than him at this, too, and he almost always sounds convincing.

So, he leaves.

In his room - in the building he owns now - he ruffles his outgrown hair, fluffs up the white streak, and passes by his only remaining photo with Bruce in the frame, on the shelf under the stolen tire.

He still does this semi-circus move in his fights - almost frozen in the air, with his back arched - but he doesn't expect anyone to compliment him anymore.

[ltorekdraws]

the fuck i made

[technically-human]

Part two of the reverse verse is here! The reverse boys meet the original boys. They're not really getting along as well as I had hoped...

Again, this was a commission for @i-am-as-normal-as-you-are and they asked for angst/funny vibes... I think it's mostly just angst though. Oh, well...

Part one

[littlecub9666]

Damian: أحبك. (I love you.)

Y/N: I love you, too.

Damian: You-How did you-?

Y/N: Guess this is a good a time as any to tell you I'm fluent in Arabic.

[holyblanchett]

Its just so funny to me that the Deadpool and Thanos stans think lady death is going to end up with them. Like she legit said her black heart beats for Agatha I'm sorry but your fave has a zero percent chance with her.

[thevoidstaredback]

Saturday's at Wayne Manor are family days. The whole weekend is reserved for the family to come and go as they please, but the biggest events are the Game Days on Saturday from 11:00 to 16:00 and Sunday Dinner at 18:00.

Every Saturday is a Game Day, but the third Saturday of each month is Competition Day. The kids all choose their favorite games, and everyone competes against each other. It's very rarely missed by anyone, but there have been times when someone has had to tap out for one reason or another. Alfred keeps track of who's missed how many days. Barbra keeps the tally of who's won what and how many times. At the end of the year, on December 31st, the scores are announced.

Sunday Dinners are sacred. No one ever misses a Sunday Dinner. The last person who did Jason is still getting subtle jabs and looks from everyone and that was a year ago and he had a very good reason, thank you very much! Everyone is always present for Sunday Dinner because everyone still has a room and the option to stay the night between the two days. Most usually take up the offer, but there have been extenuating circumstances that have pulled someone from the Manor.

No matter any of that because everyone is here and everyone is staying the night. That means everyone is patrolling Gotham tonight. Almost everyone. Batwoman has offered to take over Bludhaven for the night, so that's where she's gone.

Bruce plans to present his idea of messing with his coworkers when everyone gets back to the cave after patrol. All his kids know who they all are, having been trained by him, so there's no risk or accidental reveals on his part. In actuality, the kids thought of it like a game. They even had a folder for it on the Bat Computer and everything!

Yes, that night, after everyone returned to the Bat Cave, he would gather his Chaos Gremlins and invite them to mess with the Justice League with him. He'd also try and get Alfred in on it. Family bonding, and all that.

Though, making his kids sweat was its own form of amusement for him. It was 3:00 when everyone finally returned. They all ran their own routes, watched over by Oracle, and their own times, but everyone was always done no later than 3:00. It was a rule that the Gotham Rouges had yet to pick up on because Batman went back out until dawn more often than not.

Anyway, Bruce has been the first to get back and had put on an act of being upset. He usually kept his Batman persona with his suit, so he was rarely ever this stoic while he was Bruce Wayne. He hid his smirk as he sat at the head of the meeting table in the Cave, waiting for his children to change and sit with him. Duke normally was asleep by now, but he'd asked the boy to be there, letting him in on the harmless prank while they waited for his siblings and Stephanie to arrive.

Once everyone was seated, he waited a total of thirty seconds, meeting eyes with every one of his children, before he spoke. "I'm very disappointed."

Dick's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He'd known Bruce the longest - aside from Alfred - and had likely picked up on something the second he saw Bruce and Duke at the table. "At who?"

"The Justice League," It was amusing to watch the tension melt off of all of them when he shook his head, "We all know who all of them are, as well as everyone who trained under them, but they don't know who we are."

"Except Wonder Woman," Jason pointed out, "She figured me out when I came back."

Fair, Bruce supposed. Jason was always Diana's favorite. "I think they need some help," he said, "A push in the right direction, so to speak."

Stephanie had a smile on her face that promised mischief. "We're not telling them, right? 'Cause that'd be no fun."

"Course not!" Duke yawned, "B said we'd give them a hint."

"What did you have in mind, father?" Damian asked, stoic as always, but matching the gleam in Cass's eyes.

"We invite them to the Bat Cave," he said, "Show them around a bit. The only exits we tell them about, though, should be the Lane," How the ground vehicles get in and out. "-the Zeta Tubes," Obviously. "-and the elevator. But, we don't tell them what's upstairs."

Alfred seemed very amused from where he had taken his seat at the other end of the table.

"From there," Bruce continued, "We invite their civilian identities to the next Gala. Meet them. Hint about the Cave without actually saying anything. If I know Clark as well as I know I do, then he'll, at the very least, piece together that the Bat Cave is under Wayne Manor."

"And if we play it right?" Dick's grin was manic, "They won't connect who we are."

"Won't that be suspicious, though?" Tim spoke up for the first time, "They may not have put things together yet, but they aren't stupid. They're heroes. If we give them the pieces, they're gonna piece them together."

Damian was the one to answer him. "Batman and Bruce Wayne hate one another, though there is a grudging acknowledgement and respect."

"Give them the right pieces, with a few from the wrong puzzle, in the wrong order, we could totally have them fooled!" Jason explained.

The group shared looks between each other. Nothing needed to be said because the looks and movements said everything.

Alfred smiled and shook his head fondly. "You may plan this in the morning. For now, go to bed and get some sleep."

Part 1 Part 3

[cappycodeart]

CONCEPT DOODLES for an AU I dabbled in with a few friends after the winter king episode but kinda forgot about after the Fionna and Cake finale... I decided to revisit it and explore a little more after coming to terms with everything LOL... So, it's another "Winter King doesn't die immediately after his crown gets nuked" AU, but THIS TIME he's just dying really slowly (like Simon in the Betty episode) and ALSO joins Fionna, Cake, and Simon on their search for magic crowns. There's no logic behind this tbh, we just wanted to put him through The Horrors. And make them all friends. But mostly The Horrors. :) (he only gets to live as a treat, because I think he's funny).

Bonus (old screenshot), because this is still funny to me:

[canisalbus]

You’ve most likely answered this before but what breed exactly is Machete? I’ve been trying to figure it out for a while I’ve thought maybe a saluki but the ears arnt right.

In theory his breed is fictional Podenco Siciliano, but he's not a purebred example. Out of existing dog breeds he looks closest to (and is related to) Ibizan Hound.

But sometimes I see Silken Windhounds that also kind of remind me of him. They just don't have the characteristic bat ears.

[fisheito]

there's somethin about maid eito and bookworm yakumo

After i drew ⤴

i woke up the next day and said, NO. I NEED BALANCE!!!!

theeeere we go

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake, Son of Green Arrow: A Wild What-If Timeline

Okay, picture this: Tim Drake ends up being adopted by Oliver Queen. Wild, right? But hear me out.

It all starts with Janet Drake. Back in her boarding school days, she was close friends with Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen. As adults, they drifted, but she always trusted them. So, when drawing up a will with Jack, she names Oliver as Tim’s guardian if anything ever happens to them. Why Oliver? He’s got a stable family life with Dinah, and Bruce is still just “Brucie” at this point, with no Dick Grayson or Robin yet in the picture.

Fast forward. Tim’s parents die in a tragic accident, leaving him alone… until Oliver Queen steps in. Tim gets whisked away to Star City, where he finds himself in a home that actually feels like a family. Oliver, Dinah, and Roy include him in their lives in a way his biological parents never did. They’re attentive, warm, and actually there.

Tim’s obsessive interest in Gotham and the Bat still exists, though. Even as he helps the Queens behind the scenes (because, of course, Tim figures out their identities), he keeps an eye on Gotham and Robin. When Jason Todd dies, Tim immediately notices the shift in Batman. He sees how broken Bruce becomes and, unable to ignore it, brings it up to Oliver.

Oliver listens. He pulls some Justice League strings, and they all step in to help Bruce. But even with the intervention, Tim can see Batman isn’t the same. Batman needs Robin.

Tim, being Tim, takes matters into his own hands. He sneaks back to Gotham, tracks down Bruce, and demands to be Robin. Bruce, skeptical but too tired to argue, lets him. Tim starts living a double life—splitting his time between Gotham as Robin and Star City with the Queens, who have no idea what he’s up to. Bruce assumes Tim’s guardian is some guy named Eddie (a lie Tim pulled out of thin air), and Tim’s balancing this precarious act of being a superhero under two noses.

Then comes the reveal.

After the Tower incident, when Jason comes back and beats Tim bloody, Tim limps home to Star City, where he can’t hide the injuries anymore. Oliver and Dinah are horrified. They demand answers, and Tim finally confesses everything. Dinah is livid, Oliver is fuming, and Roy is caught somewhere between “I’m proud of you” and “I want to wring your neck.” Oliver decides he’s going to have a chat with Bruce about endangering his son.

But Tim? He begs them to let him stay as Robin. He swears he’ll stop as soon as someone else steps in, but Gotham needs Robin. Reluctantly, the Queens agree, but now they’re involved. The next time Bruce and Tim are working a case, Oliver is in the Batcave, glaring daggers at Bruce while Dinah insists on debriefing Tim like he’s an adult.

And oh, the dynamics.

Tim is fiercely loyal to both his families. He adores the Queens—they’re the parents he always wanted—but the Bats become like a second family to him. Jason, after getting over the guilt and anger, starts treating Tim like a brother. Meanwhile, Roy and Jason develop this weird rivalry over who’s Tim’s actual favorite sibling.

Roy: “I taught Tim how to shoot a bow. Can you even use a bow?” Jason: “I’m sorry, does the term ‘second Robin’ mean nothing to you? He’s literally following in my footsteps.” Tim: “I like both of you equally!” Tim, internally: It’s definitely Roy.

Bruce? Bruce gets jealous. He watches Tim laugh freely with Oliver or cling to him at the Watchtower, and there’s this pang of something he doesn’t want to admit. Bruce cares about Tim, but Tim’s already got a dad in Oliver, and it shows.

But at the end of the day, both families fiercely love Tim. Whether he’s in Gotham or Star City, he’s surrounded by people who’d do anything for him. And Tim? Tim wouldn’t trade either family for the world.

[prlssprfctn]

Contrary to the common belief, Alfred has a life outside the Wayne Manor. And some friends in the town.

Mostly, it is people his age that he met during his grocery shopping, of course, but then there is also an old, nursing home close to the Park Row that he visits occasionally to rest from his family and to get the understanding from people as wise as him. His visits are not entirely stable (he can disappear for months, and then start visiting again, depending on his family's schedule), but anytime he is back, others greet him with welcoming hugs and lists of gossips that he missed out.

So, once, Alfred disappears for a month, and when he comes back, his friends tell him that their nursing home got itself a new friend. He is naturally curious, but not much - it either would be some woman from their neighbourhood as usual, or, maybe, some mailman.

Expect, it is fucking Red Hood that they are talking about.

Alfred is in the middle of his chess game, when Red Hood appears on the doorstep with three bags of groceries, and others just... go to hug him.

Of course, Alfred heard of the new criminal lord; he was poisoning Bruce's life for months now. But did he expect to meet him here, from all places? No, not really. And according to how Red Hood froze as their eyes crossed, he didn't wait to find him here either. Bruce suspected that Red Hood knew their identities for a while now, and this reaction on a mere butler of Bruce Wayne, almost a physical recoil, only proved it.

Despite his best judgment, Alfred, however, pretends that nothing unusual happened. Red Hood, too, plays into that - he spends the rest of the evening talking with old ladies, helping to fix broken furniture, and just being very polite, without ever approaching Alfred.

Once he leaves, one of the elderly ladies that cooed on Red Hood the most, proudly shares with Alfred all details - yes, it is Red Hood, but he is a sweetheart. Yes, he buys them food, and fixes stuff. Yes, he also spends time with them, watching movies or reading to them, he is not scary at all! He is a sweetheart, really! How it started? Oh, well, hadn't you heard, if you are lacking money on products or feel like you can't handle something, you should draw a red bat on the door: Red Hood will always help out - they did that a month ago, when their authority had no money to support this nursing home, and Red Hood took all expenses on himself!

So, Alfred comes home that night, and doesn't say anything to Bruce. He decides that his boy is too reckless right now, and too judgmental to decide if Red Hood is truly that dangerous or not.

Instead, Alfred starts visiting his friends more often.

Red Hood mostly comes in the evenings, before his nighttime job. He is always in his armour and helmet, with the voice modulator on, but others speculate that he is most likely very young - that's why they baby him so much.

For next visits, Red Hood also chooses not to communicate with Alfred directly, but he eases up upon realising that Batman is not coming here anytime soon. So, Alfred watches him taking off his gloves to make a shoulder massage to one of the old ladies, and sinking on his knees before the armchair for her to pat his head (well, not head, just a top of the helmet, but the point stands), and then reading aloud her favourite, the most cliché romance book to exist, because her eyes are weak like that. He sees him cooking for others, the funnily floral-themed apron tied right above his intimidating armour. He hears him discussing with a few old men the old soap opera. He witnesses his voice, even through modulator, hitching when someone gifts him a handmade red scarf, causing the whole room to giggle.

And the more Alfred stares, the more he recognises a boy behind the helmet.

Because, god, Jason is not slick. He cooks for these people, using Alfred's recipes. He knows everything about soap operas they watched together. He has the same unhealthy passion to literature that makes him jump a little as he speaks of it, which looks funny on the double-fridged army man like Red Hood.

And, of course, it also explains everything else about Red Hood's knowledge of their family, identities and tactics.

'Are you planning to come home, my boy?'

Red Hood - Jason - flinches, when Alfred catches him watering plants in the backyard. His whole body goes stiff.

'Mister Pennyworth,' he feigns an indifference. 'I don't understand what are you talking about.'

Alfred sighs fondly. They both know that if Jason didn't want to be found by him, he would do anything for their paths not to cross; he would choose those days to visit that Alfred wouldn't. But he did.

'Oh, my boy, don't you dare to call me mister. Not after I spent nights nursing your flu and reading you bedtimes stories.'

Jason's breath hitches. He looks like he wants to run away, but at the same time, he can't make himself move. Alfred's eyes soften.

'Had you— Does he—'

'If you wanted your father to know, you would tell him already, I believe.'

He puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and it all that takes for Jason to crumble in his hug, to try to bury himself in the welcoming arms. He cries, it seems, his voice modulator glitching from incoherent sounds leaving his throat.

Alfred doesn't let him go even for a second. Not any more. Never again.

Because it is his little boy, and he is back. And nothing else matters.

[screwpinecaprice]

Sometimes I see old doodles and I forgot the context. Pretty sure this was a human AU but I forgot if Spinel was adopted, a cousin, or a half sister. And what 'it' were they talking about????

[minty-mumbles]

I think it would be so funny if the chain goes through a portal and Four is like "Oh hey, I know this place! My house is like half an hour away."

They make it to his home and they meet his grandpa, who is also four feet tall. And no one comments on it because it must be something that runs in the family. Not that weird, right?

And then some of them go into the nearby town and they discover that literally everyone is that hight and for once they're the weird ones in terms of height. Warriors and Time keep bonking their heads on the doorframes of shops because Everything is built for people who are like max 5' 2"

So it turns out Four is just an average height for his era, and he's been thinking that everyone else is freakishly tall this entire time.

He just literally never mentioned any of this to the other heroes because either he thought it was funny or he couldn’t be bothered.

[skyward-floored]

Here's my guess for dungeon groups:

Time, Twilight and Wind (because Time is NOT going to let Twi out of his sight, also if you look at the second-last panel in the update, it seems like he's looking at them specifically)

Warriors, Hyrule, and Legend (I think it makes sense for them to be together, even if Legend drives Warriors nuts. I could see him being like "here pretty boy I'll teach you all you need to know about dungeons" and go from there. Hyrule is there because I bet he'd want to go with Legend, and he also seems to look up to Warriors)

That leaves Four, Sky, and Wild, which I didn't think about much, but would certainly be an interesting group. Four and Wild working together would be nice, especially with Wild's new sword, and I wonder if Four would maybe end up using the Master Sword... maybe. It's just a guess.